


rollercoaster, I don't say no

by YourPalYourBuddy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disney World & Disneyland, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Roller Coasters, and the relationship would be a mess if i put in all the friendships too but, so! much! mutual pining!, this is also a friendship fic, w 3 happy endings actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/pseuds/YourPalYourBuddy
Summary: These are the things that go wrong:Lardo’s card is declined at the entrance.Someone spills soup all over Ransom’s favorite pair of shorts.Shitty gives the rollercoaster attendant an allergic reaction.Holster leaves to get water and then gets kicked out of line.Jack’s camera breaks.Bitty cries.______________But don't worry, a lot goes right. This is a Shitty/Lardo, Holsom, and Zimbits extravaganza set at what's supposed to be the happiest place on Earth. Alternating POVs, angst, mutual pining, and maybe - just maybe - some kissing.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Comments: 31
Kudos: 116





	rollercoaster, I don't say no

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pertainstothesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pertainstothesea/gifts).



> This one was inspired by [this](https://shitty-check-please-aus.tumblr.com/post/616486023595278336/au-suggestion) shitty-check-please-aus prompt: "the team goes to a theme park to ride roller coasters, but they end up wasting the whole day standing in line for a coaster that breaks right before closing time"

________________________

These are the things that go wrong:

Lardo’s card is declined at the entrance.

Someone spills soup all over Ransom’s favorite pair of shorts.

Shitty gives the rollercoaster attendant an allergic reaction.

Holster leaves to get water and then gets kicked out of line.

Jack’s camera breaks.

Bitty cries.

____________

**Lardo**

“That’s not possible,” she says. “I got paid two days ago.”

The lady in the ticket booth shrugs, adjusting her Mickey Mouse ears. Her nametag says _Hi! I’m Carol._ “Sorry. I’m going to have to ask you to leave the line.”

The person behind her coughs and shuffles their feet and Lardo curls her shoulders inward, angry and embarrassed, and shuffles through her wallet again. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her friends waiting, already taking some pictures. They’d been able to get in fine. Of course it’s her.

“Can you try it again? Sometimes it doesn’t — I don’t know, sometimes it takes a second try, right?”

Carol takes her card with an expression that says _I’ll humor you but we both know this won’t work._ Lardo scratches her arm as Carol swipes it with a flourish. Carol frowns at the screen as if she’s auditioning for a poorly-acted TV show. Lardo’s heart plummets toward her feet.

“It didn’t work,” she says numbly. Carol nods and hands her card back. Lardo takes it miserably, stepping out of line, and the person behind her rushes forward as if she wasn’t there to begin with. 

It’s so annoying to be this close and not be able to get in. First it was the wrong condo booking, then the faulty alarm, then a coffee stain on her shirt, then all the traffic, and now this? This is the shittiest graduation gift she’s ever been part of. Shitty and Jack had been so excited for this trip too.

Her phone buzzes. She holds onto it like it’s an anchor. 

_Jack:_ are you okay?

This is dangerous. Money isn’t always a difficult topic with Jack — yeah they know he’s loaded, they’ve all acknowledged that; it’s a chirpable thing — but with this? It’s a strange thing participating in a conversation when she already knows how it’s gonna go. 

_Lardo:_ my card got declined

 _Jack:_ where are you? I’ll pay

 _Lardo:_ Jack.

 _Lardo:_ no

 _Lardo:_ this is your grad gift. you’re not supposed to pay for us today

 _Jack:_ you can pay me back if you want, I just want you here

 _Jack:_ this IS my grad gift, after all. y’all being here

 _Lardo:_ y’all? who are you

 _Jack:_ shut up. where are you?

 _Lardo:_ by that bench in front of the ticket gate

She stares at the clouds. If she makes her eyes go fuzzy, there are twice as many clouds as usual; if she focuses, some of the clouds look horribly like they’re preparing to burst. She glares up at them as if that’s gonna make them hold off. It does nothing but make her feel better.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice says, and a shutter clicks. She blinks and squints at him as he lowers his camera, noting he’s already wearing a Goofy shirt, and lets him pull her off the bench and to her feet. “Let’s do this, eh?”

“First ‘y’all,’ now ‘eh,’” she says. “Sounds like you’re suffering an identity crisis.”

Jack says, “Sounds like you’re experiencing heat stroke,” and she shoves at him. She knows he only stutter-stepped to let her feel like she did something, but it still helps.

Lardo stands in front of him to let him block the sun. His Falconers fanny pack presses into her shoulders awkwardly, but she lets it. Jack scrolls through his phone, one hand friendly, soothing, in her hair. She closes her eyes as the line ebbs and flows. 

A few minutes later he gently tugs on a strand of her hair, dropping his hand, and she opens her eyes to see Carol raising her eyes at them. Lardo smiles in a way that’s more just showing teeth than anything too friendly.

“You’re back,” Carol says. “Do you want to try your card a third time?”

Lardo jerks a thumb back at Jack. “We’re gonna try his this time.”

“Of course.” 

Carol takes Jack’s card and somehow manages to swipe his card with more ceremony than she did Lardo’s. Lardo privately wonders if there’s a reality TV casting crew lurking behind the security cameras. 

Carol taps some buttons on her screen and prints a pass, and then Lardo’s free. The whole park opens in front of her, expanding wide and bright and overpriced, and she kind of can’t believe they’re actually here. Relief floods over her as she puts her pass in her wallet.

Behind her, Carol says, “Sorry, we need to get you another one,” and she stops short.

Jack frowns. “I just bought a pass though,” he says. “You sold me one twenty minutes ago.”

“I sold you a _day_ pass twenty minutes ago,” Carol says, “and as you have left the park to come back in, that pass has expired.”

“Are you kidding,” Lardo says flatly. 

Carol shakes her head. Lardo has never hated Mickey Mouse ears as much as she does in this moment. “Unfortunately not. The fine print is quite clear.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, still frowning. 

Lardo watches him watch Carol swipe his card for the third time. It seems to take an age; Lardo has to wonder if Carol’s doing this on purpose, if she’s holding Jack behind to exercise some small amount of power or if she just thinks he’s objectively hot. Which he is, but it’s not as if Carol held Shitty behind. Lardo would understand that.

Speaking of— 

“Lardy-Lards!” 

A thrill crawls up her spine. She smiles at Shitty as he bounds over and laughs when he picks her up. 

“Long time,” Lardo says.

Shitty sets her down and she still feels up in the air. “Fucking finally, we thought you guys were being imprisoned for like — war crimes, or something.”

“What kind of war crimes could you possibly commit at Disney World?”

He shrugs lazily. It’s still something novel, watching him. 

Lardo knows she’s all in, okay. She’s been head over heels even earlier than the first time Ransom and Holster chirped Shitty about her. Nothing’s happened between them yet, nothing aside from waking up fully dressed after passing out in his bed after kegsters, but — it feels real and possible that, maybe, there’s something here. It hangs as heavy as the clouds overhead.

She needs to snap out of this. “You never really know I guess,” she says.

“Walt Disney was part of some shady shit,” Shitty says, adjusting his backpack.

Lardo hears Jack jog up before he drapes himself over their shoulders like a dying soldier. Maybe Carol isn’t the only one who should be on a show.

“Come on,” Jack says. “Let’s find the others.”

____________

**Ransom**

The gift shop café is even more crowded than they expected. In their booth, Bitty keeps refreshing the order tracker on his phone, tongue sticking out slightly, and Ransom can’t say he blames him; it was such a rushed morning that none of them managed much more than an apple or a banana before cramming into their scheduled Uber. Ransom had had to skip out on his skincare routine in favor of just a halfhearted application of sunscreen — black people burn, he knows this, but it is so hard to really believe it when he’s always been fine and Holster’s always turned bright fucking red. 

“Bitty, any update,” Holster says. He clutches his stomach like he’s been shot. “I’m literally going to die if we don’t eat soon.”

Bitty tilts his phone toward them. Ransom reads: APPROX. TIME LEFT: 35 MIN. Holster groans. 

“Could be worse,” Ransom says. “We could be back in line again. At least we got everyone’s order in.”

“Yeah, does anyone have any fucking idea how Lardo’s bank fucked her over again?” Holster says, resting his head on the back of the booth.

The way he does it makes his neck look so, so long. Ransom blinks to stop himself form getting lost in the way the light kisses Holster’s Adam’s apple. When he shakes himself, he catches Bitty’s eye. Bitty tilts his head.

“What,” Ransom says, and Bitty says, “Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Holster says, “me neither.”

Holster launches into his favorite conspiracy theory about how, every month, one random person is selected to have their bank account drained by the government to fund Area 51 and provide resources for intergalactic alien education. Ransom half listens to the words, paying more attention to the way Holster’s voice rises and falls over the course of his sentences. 

Even if he didn’t already have his voice memorized, Ransom thinks he’d be able to tell him apart in a crowd just because of the way he uses pitch. And what a fucking range, too; Holster’s a nightmare sometimes because he insists on hitting all the notes in every song he has stuck in his head, which is fine when it’s something lower, but Ransom has a vivid memory of the week Holster spent trying to hit that high F from “Defying Gravity” after rewatching _Glee_ for who knows what reason. He’d almost gotten it. 

Holster is loud. Holster is over the top. Holster has a rhythmic sense of moving, of speaking, and Ransom sort of, maybe, just might love him for it. 

Bitty alternates between feeding into Holster’s train of thought and staring intently at Ransom as if boring his eyes into Ransom’s skull will make Ransom say it out loud. Honestly, if Ransom knew Bitty was going to be worse about this than Lardo, he might not have said anything. Lardo almost definitely knows how he feels but at least she hasn’t tried to force it out of him yet.

“—hard decision because aliens deserve to get their GEDs, you know? But they shouldn’t use Lardo’s money to do it,” Holster finishes. He turns to Ransom expectantly. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Ransom clears his throat. “Definitely, intergalactic aliens should have the right to pursue higher education if they want to.”

“Y’all’re ridiculous,” Bitty says, refreshing his phone again. “Wow. It’s fifteen minutes now, Holster, good work.”

“Oh my god,” Ransom says. He drums his knuckles on the table.

A waiter comes by and refills their waters and is mysteriously deaf to Holster’s questions of _can I just go back there myself and make my own pancakes_ or Bitty’s offer to help in the kitchen and Ransom’s apology for his friends.

“You guys are gonna make me look bad,” he says. 

Holster scoffs. “Trying to impress the moms?”

“You never know, one of them might sponsor us next season.”

Holster laughs, a quick, jolting thing, and Ransom wants to live inside that sound. Their table falls into a lull while Ransom strains for something to say. The shadow of that laugh lives in the corner of Holster’s mouth. Ransom wants to try it on.

“Who you texting,” Holster says, tone playful like he already knows. He leans on Bitty’s shoulder and Bitty goes bright pink.

Ransom spares a second to be thankful that, hopeless as he is, at least his skin will never do _that_ to him. “Hmm,” he says. He throws on his best French accent. “Could it be?”

Holster smirks and imitates Mrs. Potts to finish the reference. “Is it he?”

“Leave me ‘lone,” Bitty mutters, hunching over his phone. His ears are pinker than Ransom’s shorts.

“So that’s a yes,” Ransom notes. Holster glances at him, smiling, and that’s the second someone slams into their table with the biggest bowl of tomato soup Ransom’s ever seen.

It splashes everywhere. All over the table, splattering all of their shirts, trickling onto the floor, and Ransom’s lap is suddenly much too warm for comfort. The person apologizes in a bored voice and throws a pile of napkins onto the table before walking off. 

“What on earth!” Bitty exclaims after a stunned silence.

“Who invited Draco Fucking Malfoy to Disney?” Holster says.

Numb, Ransom says, “Is he — not supposed to be here?”

Holster narrows his eyes. “Oh my _god_ how have you not seen Harry Potter yet?”

“I’m not a fucking _dork,_ that’s how,” he says, staring at the opposite wall. “Is it bad?”

“It’s the best goddamn series ever,” Holster says. Out of the corner of his eye, Ransom watches him start to rap the table in emphasis only to stop inches before touching the soup. “We’re watching it when we get back, just you wait. _How_ are you my best friend. So uncultured.”

“Not what I meant,” Ransom says. He feels his shoulders scrunch up to his ears. “I can’t look. Is it bad?”

Bitty has to stand to see over the table. “Oh honey,” he says, “yeah. Yeah, it’s real bad.”

“No,” Ransom whispers. “My favorite salmon shorts.”

After a beat, Holster says, “Is it too soon to say that I’m not gonna miss them?” 

Ransom scoops a handful of soup and blows it at him. Holster yelps, counters with dumping his cup at water over Ransom’s head, and Bitty stands on top of the seat to protect his phone. Or maybe to film them, Ransom’s not too sure. 

Someone who looks like a manager comes running over, yelling, “I’m going to have to ask you _respectfully_ to leave,” and it isn’t respectful, and Ransom’s too hungry to care. They file out of the restaurant and run smack into Lardo, Shitty, and Jack. Ransom’s even too hungry to say anything sly at how pink Bitty gets when he sees Jack, or the way Lardo and Shitty keep almost looking at each other, but he turns to Holster and Holster nods to say _yeah I know what you mean._

“Wow,” Lardo says. “Did you guys lose a fight with pot of soup or something?”

“And we didn’t even get our food yet,” Bitty groans. Jack laughs softly. “Are you makin’ fun of me, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack says, “I wouldn’t dream of it,” and now the back of his neck goes a little pink. This time Holster nudges Ransom before Ransom has time to raise his eyebrows.

Sometimes it’s nice that Holster reads him so easily. Sometimes, though, he thinks he’s telegraphing everything, and Holster is ignoring it. It doesn’t seem possible that Holster doesn’t know how he feels.

Shitty organizes them into Team-Let’s-Get-This-Grub, Team Get-These-Fuckers-Clothes, and Team Stay-Here-You’re-Dripping-Soup. It’s an uneven lineup. Ransom, Holster, and Bitty droop outside the bathroom, waiting for Shitty to come back with gift store clothing.

“This is an awful idea,” Bitty says. “He’s gonna put us in the most gaudy things ever.”

A sudden thought strikes Ransom, and, hopeful, he says, “Maybe they have those Tide To Go sticks?”

“Oh babe, ain’t no saving those shorts,” Holster says. 

_Babe._

It means nothing, it has to mean — right? Bitty’s staring at him again. Ransom opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then Shitty appears out of nowhere and pulls plastic bags out of his backpack, passing them out. 

Ransom takes his gratefully. Then he looks in it.

“Shitty,” he says. “Why.”

Shitty grins at him. “Why not?”

____________

**Shitty**

It’s been three hours of wandering and taking photos with characters and accidentally-on-purpose brushing arms with Lardo and once, while in line for a ride, holding her hand, when Jack lines them all up in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle for another picture. Shitty loves this look on him: total dad Jack Zimmermann in his shorts, sandals, Goofy t-shirt, and camera. A fucking Falcs fanny pack. Who would’ve thought he had it in him. It came out bit by bit over the last four years, but it’s really shining now. And it’s not that hard to see why.

He purposefully stays pace after they disband, watching his friends clump together. Testing a theory. 

Ransom and Holster pair off to take selfies, finally not complaining about their gift shop outfits — a tasteful _Lilo and Stitch_ Hawaiian shirt with horribly clashing bright red cargo shorts for Ransom, a nice, subdued Pizza Planet shirt and green cargo shorts patterned with Mike Wazowski for Holster. Honestly, Shitty thinks it could’ve been much, much worse. Lardo had talked him out of anything too horrible. He’d been imagining an all-cargo look with tie dye fanny packs.

It’s Jack and Bitty he’s wondering about though. Bitty’s been blushing on and off all day, especially after realizing his new shirt matched Jack’s perfectly. He’s stretched up on his tiptoes right now as Jack leans down, showing his his camera roll, and Shitty can’t tell if they’re pink because now they’re _both_ blushing or because they didn’t put on any fucking sunscreen. Maybe both. He should really make everyone touch up, he has at least four bottles in his backpack.

And then— 

It’s Lardo, asking him to take a picture of her on the railing, asking him to take a picture with her, asking if he’ll send her the photos. She smells like sweat and sunscreen and it shouldn’t smell good, it shouldn’t, he’s been to too many summer camps where that’s how everyone smells all the time, but there’s something that’s _her_ underneath it all. He thinks it’s her laundry detergent, or maybe her shampoo. Possibly both. 

She says something about wanting him to grow his hair out. He thinks he’s going to combust when she touches his hair. 

“What’s happening here,” he says. 

Lardo — and it’s always Lardo, _god,_ isn’t it? It’s always been her — says, “The possible sun damage we’re all risking today, or the possible flirting we’re all engaging in today?”

Shitty says, “That one. All of it.” 

Her lips part. “Rans and Holtzy have liked each other since — I don’t even know. You knew that though.” She waits for him to nod. He does, helpless as she puts on a layer of chapstick. “Bitty and Jack? I’m not sure when, timing-wise, but I’m getting the vibe that there’s something there. Definitely a white person sunburn on the way for both of them.”

He says, “And what about,” and she runs her finger over her bottom lip. Maybe she’s rubbing in the chapstick and maybe it’s on purpose, to draw his attention, but it’s a distraction either way. He trails off.

“You and me?” she says in a low voice.

Shitty knows he’s gonna sound needy, but it’s impossible not to want her. He just graduated. There’s been something brewing all day, and longer, and he just — he needs to know. He lets it spill over in his voice. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “What about us?”

Lardo says, “Shitty,” and it’s all over her face. It’s open and a little scared and it’s _there._ He doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It feels like the right thing from the way she closes her eyes. How she moves his hands to rest on her waist. How, when their lips touch, hers taste like raspberry chapstick.

“Hey!” Bitty’s voice is loud and almost like a physical being; it shoves between them like a third body. “Y’all, the line for the Rock 'n' Roller Coaster is like fifteen minutes right now.”

“Shit that’s fast,” Ransom says.

Shitty hears their voices as if they’re on the shore and he and Lardo are underwater. He half expects to breathe out bubbles, to see a fish swim between them. Lardo looks like she’s magic here. There’s a world of possibilities glimmering between them. 

If they kissed again, Shitty thinks his lips would taste like raspberries too.

“Let’s go,” Lardo says. She directs this at everyone, but her eyes are on him.

“Whatever you want,” he says, and then, louder, “All right motherfuckers, I’m snacky.”

Lardo chirps Jack about his fanny pack and Jack snaps a picture of her eating sunflower seeds like a heathen or like a goddess, depending on what how the photo comes out. Shitty wanders until he finds peanuts amd buys them on a whimsical desire to capture the carnival feel of this place. He felt it earlier when he bought that shit for his friends, but it’s even stronger now. 

Kissing Lardo — even as brief as it was — tilted the world on its axis. It cut down the wait time. It cleared the clouds, even momentarily; Jack takes advantage of the sudden sun to have Bitty pose with his ice cream cone. Shitty doesn’t know what’s going on with them either, but it has to be something. He’s never seen Jack’s face that soft before.

It made his heart stop. Pushed him into another world. Rooted him even more firmly in the present. 

There’s no time to talk about it with their friends around them, but he’s an affectionate person. He’s always had an arm on her shoulder, always a hand messing up her hair, always an elbow for her to sneak her hand into. He thinks Jack and Holster notice by the way they’re twisting their mouths away from a smile. They don’t say anything.

Shitty finishes his peanuts in line and throws away the package in a trash can, trying to remember how the seating goes for this rollercoaster. He has a hazy, years-old memory of a doomed family vacation from years ago where they went on this ride before a tornado warning went in place.

The line moves faster than expected. When they get to the front, the attendant beckons for Ransom, Holster, Jack, and Bitty to get on and holds up a hand to stop Shitty and Lardo. Bitty cuts his eyes at them.

“Do y’all mind if we go? We could let someone else go so we could all go together.”

Shitty says, “Go ahead. We’ll see you soon.” 

Lardo holds onto his backpack strap. Shitty lightly runs his fingertips over her shoulder. They aren’t being subtle, but their friends still don’t say anything. He knows Jack and Holster caught the movement. Bitty and Ransom are giving him a _look._ Shitty doesn’t really care if they chirp him about this.

“Make good choices,” Holster says as he clips into the ride. The attendant laughs in a way that sounds like he meant it to be a cough.

Jack snorts. “Use protection.” 

“Fuck you two,” Lardo says. She flips them off with her free hand, and the ride taxis away from the platform. The last thing they hear before it drops is Ransom and Holster whooping.

“Our friends are idiots,” Shitty says. Lardo hums in agreement.

“My friends are like that too,” the attendant says. His nametag identifies him as Greg. “Always giving me crap about people I’m dating.”

Shitty says “Ah” at the same time Lardo says “We’re not” and then they both stop abruptly. Something sour mixes in his stomach until she adds, “It’s new. New today, actually. We haven’t had time to talk about it yet.”

“Forty minutes old,” he says. “If that.”

Greg bows his head. “Say no more. I’m sorry if — I dunno, if that was awkward to say?”

“It’s chill,” Shitty says.

“For what it’s worth,” Greg says, holding out his hand to give Lardo a very bro-y high five, “you guys are cute together.” 

Shitty’s pretty sure he’s blushing. From the way Lardo’s looking at him it’s almost a guarantee. He gives Greg a high five too, saying, “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.” Greg clears his throat. “Hey, uh. Did either of you eat peanuts recently?”

“Yeah.” Greg’s eyes widen. Shitty rubs the back of his neck. “Are you—?”

Greg fumbles in his pockets, saying, “I am severely allergic.” 

“Fuck. What can we do?”

“Talk into that,” Greg says, pulling out an EpiPen and shoving a walkie talkie into Shitty’s hands. “Call a med team. Now!”

____________

**Holster**

“It’s okay,” Holster says soothingly, rubbing circles against Ransom’s back. “It’s okay, see? Greg made it. They’re giving him the day off. He’ll be all right, babe.”

There it is again. _Babe._ He hadn’t meant it seriously the first time; it was more of a joke earlier when Ransom’s awful salmon shorts were ruined, something lighter when Rans wasn’t having a panic attack at the happiest place on Earth. It means more to say it now. Especially after seeing everything going on with Shitty and Lardo — that kiss? They all knew that was coming. He has to put it out there now, start sowing those seeds now, so if anything happens with Rans, they have time to grow it. 

But right now he needs Rans to start breathing again.

“Are you hearing me okay?” he says, shifting his weight. The bench they’re sitting on is oddly hot and cold and none of it is comfortable.

“I always hear you, Holtzy,” Rans says. 

Holster lets out a breath at how much stronger his voice sounds. Ransom slumps against him now and Holster holds him until he stops shaking, doing his best to project surety and stability. Ransom’s breathing steadies. Holster thinks he lets him hold him longer than needed. He isn’t complaining.

“Hey,” Jack says, crouching in front of them. “Do you need anything?”

Ransom shakes his head. “No, I’m good for now.”

“You ready to keep moving? Bits and Shitty are talking about Splash Mountain, if you’re up for it.” 

“If we go slow,” Holster says, because Rans pales a bit at the suggestion. 

“If we go slow,” Rans agrees.

Going slow means his arm around Ransom’s waist just in case they need to stop for anything. Going slow means Ransom’s arm slung over Holster’s shoulders, just in case he feels faint. With every step it’s clear Rans doesn’t need to lean on him. With every step, it’s even clearer Rans wants to, that he wants them this close.

Holster whispers, “You okay?”

“Feeling a lot better now,” Rans says. He smiles slightly.

Holster loses himself in how annoying it is that Rans is wearing the tackiest gift shop clothes like they came off a runway. Today’s been a load of bullshit already — the card declined, the soup, the allergies — but this? This is almost worse than all of that. It’s like Shitty went into the gift shop thinking _what horrible combination of clothing is still going to make Ransom look like a god and thus torment Holster for the rest of goddamn time?_ and then found it. What do they always say in those runway shows? “Wear the clothes, don’t let them wear you.” Ransom’s wearing the shit out of this. 

He’s vaguely aware of how their friends gravitate toward each other. Shitty and Lardo merge with Jack and Bitty, then reform into Shitty and Jack talking in low voices while Lardo and Bitty speculate about how big the splash will be at Splash Mountain. He watches as Bitty glances back at them now and then to visually check in on Rans, and now and then Bitty makes an exaggerated face that Holster can’t understand but makes Rans tense up.

“What’s that about?” he asks. 

Rans tenses up even more. “What’s what about,” he says. 

Holster tickles Rans’ side and Rans laughs reluctantly, trapping Holster’s hand to rest flat against his hip. “That,” he says. He tries to keep his voice even to hide the exclamation points reverberating in his head from touching Rans’ hip. “Bitty keeps making you freeze up.”

Rans sighs, but doesn’t relax. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Holster says.

He worries about it while they walk to the ride and he worries about it while they wait in line and he worries about it so much he almost misses Jack tease Shitty and Lardo within an inch of their life, which is awful, because Jack’s chirps are _lethal_ sometimes. He tunes in enough to hear Lardo say, “Well, what’s up with you?” and enough to watch the back of Jack’s neck go pink, but then Ransom laces their fingers together where they’re resting over Rans’ hip, and he doesn’t pay much attention to anything after that.

Holster comes back when Bitty says, “Holster, you okay? Expected a half dozen chirps from you by now.”

“Think he’s distracted,” Lardo says smoothly. Holster glares at her. This sounds like a prepared back-and-forth.

“Oh?” Bitty lets his accent shine all around that sound. Holster spares a second to catch how Jack reacts to this — neck even pinker, eyes even wider — and looks back in time for Bitty to say, “Distracted by what, pray tell?”

“Hmm.” Lardo taps her chin pensively. Next to him, Rans shakes his head slowly. “Ah, but I’m not sure we should say.”

“What’re you up to,” Shitty says, and he is so bright and soft with her that he’s hard to look at. Some of it is reflected on Jack, Holster thinks, but then it’s definitely— 

Bitty starts say something, and Holster sees it in how Jack looks at him. There’s a secret smile that Jack must mean just for Bitty. No, Bits. He called him Bits earlier. Holster’s never heard him call him Bits before.

They must have something going on. Right? No way this is something brand new like Shitty and Lardo. Holster mentally reassesses the whole day in an instant. They’re familiar with each other and not, dancing around each other awkwardly like something’s holding them back.

The fucking _NHL._ Right.

But if they can do it — if they’re trying, even with this massive thing hanging over their heads, why shouldn’t he?

“They’re trying to get me to say how much I like Rans,” he says. 

He’s expecting Rans to freeze, but he doesn’t. Rans slips out of his grasp and crosses his arms like he’s confused. All of their friends are staring at him, but he addresses this next part to Rans. 

“I gotta say,” Holster says, heart in his throat, “it’s a lot. And you don’t have to say anything, I just thought, you know. You should know.”

Their friends keep looking between them. Ransom isn’t saying anything. Holster’s heart slowly settles back in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so loud about this. He means it, what he said; Rans doesn’t have to say anything. Holster would be lying, though, if he said he wasn’t hoping he’d say _something._

An awkward silence grows and stretches between the six of them. Holster claps his hands abruptly.

“I’m gonna go buy a water,” he says. “Anyone want anything?”

“I could go for a water,” Shitty says. He says it like he wants to say _I’m sorry._ “We really should be using reusable water bottles though. Next year goal.” 

“If you don’t mind,” Bitty says. Holster catches the way Bitty’s eyes flit to rest on Jack’s face before coming back to him. 

Lardo slugs his arm gently and asks for a Gatorade. Jack does the same, except he swaps out the tap for adjusting his camera strap apologetically.

“On it,” Holster says. “Be right back.”

He thinks they start whispering behind his back. He’s not sure he actually wants to know what they’re saying, so he keeps walking. 

“Holster!”

This is the last thing he wanted right now. Holster squeezes his eyes shut briefly before stopping still, waiting fo Ransom to catch up. When he does, they set off toward a vendor selling drinks for way too much money. They fall into step. Holster can’t bring himself to disrupt it intentionally, but he thinks about it.

“I meant it,” he says. Ransom looks at him and he looks at his shoes. “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Ransom breathes out, and then he’s kissing him.

It’s something all-encompassing. Rans cradles his face and kisses him again, and Holster is so overwhelmed he loses his balance and ends up on his ass on the pavement looking up at Rans, and Rans is looking back. Rans is laughing at him actually, but it’s okay. He’d take Rans laughing at him a thousand times over if it meant he’d get to kiss him a thousand times.

“You’re gonna have to explain it to me again, then,” Holster says. It comes out a little breathless. He sees Rans smile when he notices.

Ransom kneels next to him. “You gonna stand up, or should I explain down here?”

“I think I’d fall over again if I stood up,” Holster says honestly. “You got me weak in the knees.”

“Okay,” Rans says, and he explains.

He walks them through the last three years, pointing out Holster’s singing, the kegsters, the reading room. How this whole day he’d been wanting to say something. How he’s been wanting longer than that. And then Holster gets to see how he looks when he says the same thing, and they smile a little at how ridiculous this is. How they’re sitting on the ground at Disney and they’re in love with each other and Ransom kissed him, and he fell over. It’s beautiful. 

Holster sits up on his knees and kisses him again, and it’s beautiful too. It’s still beautiful the third time. And the fourth.

“We should get those waters,” he whispers eventually, after his lips have been kissed swollen and people are starting to stare. 

Rans says, “I suppose.”

After the fifth kiss Holster gets a text from Bitty that says _stop making out we’re thirsty and also almost at the front of the line._ He lets Rans pull him to his feet and when they head back, hands full of bottled water and Gatorade, meeting his eyes is just as good as a kiss. 

They make it through most of the line by saying, “Excuse us, sorry, we gotta get back to our friends.” They run into snags as they get closer to the front when a family refuses to move, and when the dad waves over a security guard, Holster says, “Look, it’s just water. You just splash into water. We’re all gonna have the same experience, we just want our friends to be hydrated when we go.”

The security guard looks reluctant but still says, “Sorry, we have a policy against bottles not in bags on this ride.”

“Ah,” Rans says. “I see.”

They wait on a bench in front of the pool-thing. It could be worse honestly, Holster thinks. Rans smiles at him and bumps their water bottles together in a cheers. The view’s better here.

____________

**Jack**

Jack is a college graduate and still somehow forgets one of the cardinal rules of owning a camera. The first, of course, is _protect your lens with your life._ The second?

“Shit,” he says, squeezing his camera bag. The amount of water that comes out is not heartening.

_Don’t bring your camera on Splash Mountain._

“Oh,” Bitty says. “I’m sorry sweetpea, I didn’t even think about that. Is the memory card okay?”

“No, I should’ve had Rans or Holster hold it,” Jack says. “Ah well.” He carefully pops out the memory card and slides it back in. “The memory card looks okay. So that’s not too bad.”

It feels kind of silly to be this attached to a camera. He used it throughout his photography class. He took his very first pictures with this camera. He fell in love with Bitty, slowly, without realizing it, while taking pictures with this camera. It centered on Bitty as if it was the first thing that knew how he felt. Looking at like this, soggy and silent? It’s like something very final just shut the door on his college career. 

“At least you still have something to hold onto when we get back,” Bitty’s saying, and Jack can’t tell exactly what he means by that. It sounds like he’s talking about them, not the camera. 

“Bits,” he says, but then Lardo and Shitty catch up to them.

It’s funny seeing them now that they’ve talked things out. Not much has changed, not really; they’re still making fun of each other and everyone else, but they’re holding hands while they do it. 

“Y’all ready to roll?” Lardo says.

“‘Y’all,’ eh? More heat stroke.”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Zimmermann.”

They join Ransom and Holster — both of whom look thoroughly, completely kissed — and Jack sips his Gatorade, thinking of how to get Bitty alone so they can talk. They haven’t really been platonic today; he’s positive Holster caught on so Ransom probably knows and besides Bitty, Shitty knows him best, and Lardo knows everything. He’d be surprised if she hadn’t picked up on something today, if not yesterday, if not on the plane when he woke up holding Bitty’s hand. 

Jack doesn’t know what they are yet. He knows what he’d like to be, but it seems too early ask Bitty to be his boyfriend. Or does it? Having known him this long already makes things feel so easy and still so hard, like they’ve run a marathon easily enough but now are struggling to run three miles. 

Maybe it’d be easier if their friends weren’t getting their shit together all at the same time. It’s hard watching Ransom and Holster especially; he isn’t sure how they identify, but the freedom with which they’re holding hands makes jealousy burn throughout his body. He does his best to shove it back down. It doesn’t go easily.

He pulls out his phone.

_Jack:_ I wish we could hold hands.

Bitty gives him a small, sad smile before typing back, _I do too._

_Jack:_ should we? 

_Bits:_ honey I don’t know

 _Bits:_ you never know who’s taking pictures. I don’t want to be the reason you get a target on your back before you even start in the league. 

It’s a valid, mature decision. It still hurts.

Shitty calls a strategy meeting around 6PM to assess their game plan. “Okay,” he says. “We were talking about Tower of Terror in the Uber, right? Still the move?”

“Oh hell yes,” Holster says. “That’s the best one.”

“Absolutely traumatized me as a kid,” Bitty murmurs.

Holster points at him. “See? Best one.”

Ransom rolls his eyes. Jack looks away before he has to see more of what he can’t have.

 _Not fair not fair not fair_ rattles around his brain as they make their way to the ride. Bitty seems to droop with every step he takes until even their friends pull themselves out of their new-love haze to notice. Ransom has Bitty talk him through his favorite pies and Lardo asks about the jam feud and Holster makes him laugh by imagining new, ridiculous hockey plays, and it’s almost enough. 

Shitty touches Jack’s elbow when they get to the entrance of the queue. Their friends keep walking until they realize Jack and Shitty have stopped, and Jack pretends he doesn’t see the worry and sadness Bitty’s sending his way. And then he makes himself see it. You don’t get to pick and choose how things go. This is the way it is today. 

“What’s wrong, Jackabee?” Shitty asks.

Jack says, “What do you mean?”

Shitty gives him a _look._ It’s a look that says _I’ve known you for four years and I’ve loved you for four years. I know you better than to believe that you don’t know what I’m talking about._ Jack loves and hates this look. It sees too much.

“I just—” Jack rubs his eyes. How do you do this? How do you explain to your straight friend what’s going on when it’s _this?_ “I want to hold his hand.”

What a tiny, desperate thing to say. What a sad, strange thing that this is what’s sending him over tonight. He isn’t crying, but he could be. It wouldn’t be hard.

“I’m sorry,” Shitty says, and that’s it, that’s too much. Shitty brushes away Jack’s tears before they catch on his cheeks. 

Jack says, “I just don’t understand. Why is this how it has to be?”

“Oh, Jack.” 

Shitty pulls him in for a hug. Jack collapses against his neck. It takes some time, but Shitty holds him steady until he can stand with his own bones. 

His phone buzzes.

_Bitty:_ what’s wrong?

 _Jack:_ this is harder than I thought. I’m sorry

 _Jack:_ I’ll be stronger

 _Bitty:_ let me carry some of this. please

 _Jack:_ it’s heavy. I don’t know if you’ll want to

 _Bitty:_ it’s you, isn’t it? of course I want to

“I’m here for you, you know that right?” Shitty says quietly as they rejoin the others. “I got your back.”

He doesn’t deserve this. From either of them.

He’s going to try to believe it.

Jack says, “I know. Thank you,” and Shitty claps him on the shoulder. 

____________

**Bitty**

The line hasn’t moved the whole time they’ve been here. Bitty’s phone counts away the minutes like it normally does, but between the amount of _everything_ that’s happened today and what just happened with Jack, it feels like these Disney minutes last hours. He should see if Holster has a theory for that, if Disney found a way to manipulate time so he could trap guests in his parks. 

Of course it starts to rain before they get inside. Of course it starts thundering. Of course, when the other guests start to leave and he and his friends step through the doors, they find out the ride’s malfunctioned and is closed for the rest of the day.

“Well,” Bitty says. “Fuck.”

Shitty gasps dramatically. “Who taught my son how to swear?” he says, and Ransom snorts. Shitty wheels around to point at him. _“You!”_

They jabber back and forth about whether Bitty knows the other swear words — he does — and whether or not he likes to use them — it depends on the day. Days like today earn it.

“Shitty, you still have our clothes, right?” he asks, interrupting. 

Shitty pats his backpack. “In this marvel of modern engineering,” he says. 

“Great.” Bitty sighs.

“I’m gonna try and save my shorts when we get back to the condo, Bits,” Ransom says, “if you want me to work on your clothes too.”

Holster glares. “Are you seriously suggesting the condo’s Tide To-Go stick is gonna be enough for all our shit?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll work on yours. It doesn’t work for nonbelievers.”

 _“Wow,_ okay.”

This is a lot right now. Too much. Bitty loves his friends, but they need to get moving. They’re all going to be soaked and whiny for the drive back anyway; might as well go now.

As if she read his mind, Lardo says, “You boys ready?” She doesn’t wait for them to respond before tearing off into the rain.

“Wow I love her,” Shitty says. He races after her.

Ransom says, “Totally irresponsible,” before taking Holster’s hand and following.

Bitty looks up at Jack and Jack looks back and then they both look away. 

They don’t say anything before running after their friends. It’s a good thing, Bitty tells himself. The exercise is good. Being rained on by warm rain is good. The fact that today was kind of a shit day is good even, because of all the stories they’ll be able to relive whenever they’re all together again. Built-in memories. 

For his friends, today’s going to be a weird, wild day full of love and fledgling relationships. For him and Jack? Bitty glances toward the passenger seat of the Uber at Jack’s strong profile. Jack’s making polite small talk with the driver and staring straight ahead. He has no idea what it’s going to mean to them down the road. He wonders is Jack can see it, if he’s happy about it, if there’s still something to be looking toward. Maybe it’s illuminated in the headlights.

It has to be.

Bitty has to peel himself off the seat when the Uber pulls up to the building their condo’s in. He thanks the driver listlessly. In the elevator, he’s pretty sure his friends are communicating without words over his head — with the exception of Lardo, who’s communicating without words under his chin. 

Jack and Shitty shelled out for this condo. It’s really nice; there are four bedrooms and three bathrooms, which Bitty thinks probably means it’s ridiculously expensive, but he’s really, really thankful for it right now. It means when he takes his sweet time in the shower he isn’t being a huge dick. Especially since Shitty and Lardo are sharing one, and Ransom and Holster called shotgun on the other. 

Bitty could’ve invited Jack in with him, probably; there’s no way their friends don’t know what’s going on, but. He thinks back to the way Jack’s face had looked when he and Shitty were talking. Jack probably wouldn’t have wanted to shower with him.

He towels off and tries to check his hair in the fully steamed mirror before giving up. A deep tiredness settles deep into his body. His softest pajamas don’t help.

Someone knocks on the door. “Yeah?”

“Bits?”

Bitty sucks in his bottom lip. “Jack.”

The door settles like Jack’s leaning against it. “I think we should talk,” Jack says. “Are you — are you almost done?”

He was wrong before; this is a lot right now, too much right now. Bitty isn’t sure if his reflection is blurry because the of the condensation on the mirror or because he’s crying. A few tears land on his cheeks. Maybe it’s both.

“Yeah,” Bitty calls. “I’ll be right out.”

He splashes water on his face and silently curses himself for taking so long. He can’t tell if there’s evidence of tears or not.

Jack’s waiting on the other side of the hallway when Bitty comes out of the bathroom. There’s a moment where Bitty’s pretty sure they’re both trying to read each other and both failing. He closes his eyes.

“Yeah, perfect,” Jack says suddenly, and Bitty frowns at him in confusion. “Keep them closed, okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty says, still frowning. “Why?”

“You’ll see.” 

Jack must push off the wall, because there’s a light pressure over his eyes like Jack’s covering them with his hands. He lets Jack guide him forward, taking short, hesitant steps; Ransom and Holster had been talking about setting up an American Ninja Warrior obstacle course at some point, and Bitty doesn’t trust them to wait. 

After a few minutes, Jack tells him to stand still. Bitty does, eyes still closed. He doesn’t really remember the layout of the condo but he thinks they’re in the kitchen. It’s that or the living room, but now there’s a crinkling noise he recognizes as being the cellophane wrap of a homemade pie, and Bitty wants to cry again.

“Okay,” Jack says. “You can open them.”

Bitty does and now he’s crying for real because it’s _Jack_ and Jack’s holding a pie he must’ve been working on last night to have it in and out of the oven so fast today, and it’s messy, but— 

“I was just thinking,” Jack says. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not so good at this. I’ve never really been a good boyfriend; with Camilla we just talked about tennis and hockey, and I don’t want that to be us. I want to try. It’s going to be hard, and — I don’t know, Bits, it might turn out like this pie. But it’s better with you. It’s better when we bake together, even if I mess up the lattice again.”

Jack sets the pie down carefully. Bitty wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands, and then Jack’s doing it for him. Carefully, gently. 

“I’m better with _you,_ Bits,” Jack says quietly. “And I hope I haven’t fucked that up today.”

“You haven’t,” Bitty says hoarsely. “Have I?”

Jack says, “No,” and Bitty kisses him. Jack whispers, “We’re good, Bits. We’re gonna make this so good.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Bitty doesn’t think he’s heard his voice that small in a long, long time. Jack seems to take his time answering, instead running his thumb over Bitty’s bottom lip, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. Bitty holds onto Jack’s sweatshirt like he’s going to disappear if he lets go.

“Because it’s you,” Jack says finally, simply. “Because I don’t want to hurt you. Because I don’t think you want to hurt me either.”

“I don’t.” Bitty holds on tighter. “I won’t.”

“Okay,” Jack says. He smiles a little. “Then I think we’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Bitty whispers.

He tugs on Jack’s sweatshirt, already closing his eyes, and Jack’s lips are soft against his own.

“Bitty, you beautiful fucker, did you already make a pie?”

Bitty jerks away at Shitty’s voice. He touches the back of his hand to the back of Jack’s, a question and a want expressed at the same time, and Jack twines their fingers together.

“Hold up, where’s the pie?” Ransom calls.

“Kitchen,” Bitty calls back, and soon all their friends pile into the room. His heartbeat crashes in his ears while they talk about the water pressure of the shower and how shitty, how actually horrible Disney was, and then Holster shushes them all.

“Are you two holding hands,” he says slowly, and Bitty can feel the warmth in his ears.

“Me and Jack are dating,” he says. He braces himself.

What he gets is this:

“Okay, so, Lards, it was on a weekend, so we all owe you—”

“I still owe you for Annie’s, Rans, so we’re square.”

“Technically it’s still before _a_ graduation, does that still count? Or no?”

“Fuck no, Holster. Nice try.”

Jack distracts them by slicing the pie and Bitty scoops ice cream next to it. Lardo leaves the table with a heap of cash and comes back telling them all she just got a call from her bank talking about education plans for intergalactic aliens and Holster’s pie falls on the floor.

“Are you serious? It’s a real thing?”

“It’s real all right,” Lardo says. She winks at Bitty when Holster starts his conspiracy rant again. 

Rans shakes his head. Shitty leans on the table and seems to be genuinely engaged in what Holster’s saying. Lardo drapes Shitty’s arm over her shoulder and settles in, seemingly content. Bitty rubs his temples ruefully and makes a face at her.

Jack nudges Bitty’s foot until Bitty stands, yawning, and Jack pulls him onto his lap and settles his chin on Bitty’s shoulder. Bitty laces their fingers together. Jack presses a kiss to his shoulder. Warmth seems to radiate outward from the spot.

Bitty settles in, preparing himself for more ridiculousness. It’s already been a long day. From the way Holster’s just getting started, it’s going to be an even longer night.

____________

These are the things that go right:

Lardo’s bank tracks down her money.

Ransom’s Tide To-Go stick gets all the soup stain out of his shorts.

Shitty receives an email from Greg, thanking him for calling for help.

Holster gets a good reusable water bottle and makes Rans watch all the Harry Potter movies. 

Jack gets a new camera as a _thank you_ from all of his friends. 

Bitty laughs.

________________________

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, thanks for reading! This one kinda took over my head and wouldn't let go :')  
> This one was a lil more ambitious than I was expecting, so please lemme know what you think in the comments below or [come find me on tumblr!](https://ivecarvedawoodenheart.tumblr.com/)


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